I know there is a reason for everything, so I know there is a reason I look the way I do. I was the kind of child that inspired comments from strangers when I was very little. Then I got glasses and was awkward. Then I was 5'9" with blonde hair, blue eyes, and long legs.
On paper, I always thought, that sounds good. But I have never really felt attractive. I have never felt like the pretty girl in the room.
Consequently, all of the guys I dated growing up and most of the guys I gravitate towards now all have complimented my looks. Is that by chance? Obviously I must gather my confidence about my appearance from outside sources.
After an exceptionally tough time in high school dealing with my low self-esteem and poor self-image, I began to cope by simply ignoring the problem. I pretended I didn't care what people thought about how I looked and married a man who praised my looks every day.
"What if I get fat someday? Would you still love me?" I asked him.
"Baby," he would say. "You're never going to be fat."
...
Luckily, growing up, I was always severely and unintentionally underweight. I have no doubt that I had the type of personality that could have easily developed an eating disorder, but instead I was left dealing with girls in the lunch line who asked me how I could even walk with legs as skinny as mine. Instead I was left with boobs so flat I worried I looked like a guy. There was no fat to spare. Now I think it was a blessing--as a result I never counted calories.
At present, however, after getting my life into balance and rejoining the scene of happy hours and social outings, I have suddenly gained fifteen pounds, a thing that hasn't occurred since freshman year of high school.
I don't want to sound ridiculous, but it has made me question my self-worth. It's stupid, I know, but suddenly I am worrying about whether or not I can attract a man, whether or not I am valuable. Whether or not I deserve a happy life.
It disgusts me, this anxiety about body-image, and it's something I've wrestled with since about third grade.
I am trying to validate my own existence. I am trying to not depend on men for compliments. I am trying to remember that my worth is not determined by how I look compared to the glossy women in People magazine. I am trying to remember I am brilliant, vivacious, curvy, sensual, sexy, and fun.
But it's hard.
So, once in a while, I am grateful for the validation I get from men. On New Year's-- a night of patent leather heels, girlfriends, fishnets, and a short dress--I got that validation.
"I'm not lying," said the 24 year-old. "Your eyes are so beautiful."
"Is your name really Billy?" I asked. I mean, seriously; I am thirty and have been on the market for a year and a half. I know a line when I hear one.
We smooched and he flattered me a little more. Then he tried to come home with me. I told him no--I just needed the reminder, not the complicated drama.
I wish I felt good about myself. I wish it came naturally. Instead I am stuck repeating affirmations, reminding myself of my values, and smiling at boys like Billy once in a while.
My resolution for 2009? To work on the esteem issue, with or without a man.
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